


Burn to Ashes

by beanaroony



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fire Nation, Fire Nation Royal Family, Prison, Season 3 Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanaroony/pseuds/beanaroony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows all too well what betrayal feels like; she knows what it's like to be betrayed by him. But this...this time is different. S3 finale AU. Zuko turns on Katara during Sozin's Comet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This World Isn't Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is start to a total revision of "Burn to Ashes." I kind of hate how I tainted this story with so much flowery prose, and I hated the direction I was taking this in, so I'll be revising each chapter. Hopefully it'll make more sense after this.
> 
> Thanks for your patience and for all the support so far!

"We are not wounded so deeply when betrayed by things we hope for as when betrayed by the things we try our best to despise. In such betrayal comes the dagger in the back."

—  _Thirst For Love_ , Yukio Mishima

* * *

It's hot, and her body feels heavy, like the flames from the comet above are somehow weighing her down. But Zuko seems more alive with the comet's influence.

There's a lightness in his step that wasn't there before, and even the motions of his firebending mastery are smoother, as if firebending no longer feels like a burden. She wants to be happy for him, he needs this boost in confidence for the impending battle ahead, because he can't hurt his sister without confidence. She can see it in the tilt of his brow and the tightness of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes. But she can't shake the uneasiness that engulfs her being when she sits near him.

He grows quieter and quieter the nearer they get to the capital's coast. Katara can't get a word out of him when they finally see what she assumes are palace towers in the distance.

She's nervous, she has been, they  _all_  have been including Zuko, but seeing his shoulders tense, his back stiffen as if touching him would shatter his spine...catching him glance over at her with a strange, undefinable emotion in his gaze has her shuddering in fear. She can't be afraid, she  _can't_ , but her partner in this war – her comrade, though ironic given their history – somehow makes her doubt everything they'd ever worked towards.

Appa lets out a low bellow as if echoing her sentiments. Katara pats his head in acknowledgment. Zuko doesn't react, facing forward still.

She wants to hold his hand as an attempt to ground herself, but it doesn't seem right in that moment. So instead she holds her own and continues to sneak glances in his direction.

...

Finally, they are coursing over the palace walls, and she spots Azula kneeling before a small crowd of people.

Ah, this must be her coronation party.

Zuko's expression blanks and her heart steadily sinks. Maybe they're in time, maybe they're too late.

Appa lands too quickly for Katara to prepare herself and suddenly Zuko is gone. She doesn't even get a chance to grasp his sleeve and stop him, and she's not sure why she wants him to stop but the roiling in her belly tells her to hold him back so she can say something,  _anything_.

Sokka used to remind her again and again how important instinct is to him, how important it should be to everyone. Maybe this is her instinct talking.

Katara has a habit of ignoring Sokka's advice.

She should have seen it coming when Zuko chose to fight Azula alone in what now seems almost an eternity ago.

She should have seen it in the way he looked at her.

…

Zuko turns his stance on Katara, away from his sister who laughs behind him with a crown in her hair.

She gapes at them both from atop Appa's rumbling shoulders, until a particularly loud growl shakes her out of her initial shock. She hops down onto the tiled floor, pats his lowered head with trembling hands, whispers in soothing tones to send him away. The sky bison whines in protest but ultimately heeds her words.

Appa's departure leaves a gust of wind in his wake, surrounding Katara in a cloud of dust and ash. Once the veil lifts, she is facing Zuko with a hand on the waterskin at her side.

This isn't part of the plan, none of this is

She hesitates, but her resolve is set. Her duty has and always will be the same.

Defeat the Fire Nation. Protect her family. Achieve Aang's dream of peace among nations. Heal this ailing world.

Even if it means defeating Zuko.

Her chest tightens painfully but she gets into a fighting stance nonetheless.

Zuko makes to say something, but she won't hear it. The waterskin is popped open before he can utter a single word because  _she won't hear it_. Katara swings forward with a slice of water from her side and curses when he dodges it skillfully.

This is why he trained with her, isn't it? To learn her every attack, her every step and her every breath.

There's no time for this betrayal to hurt.

He rolls, he kicks, and a flame of a size she could never have anticipated shoots her way. She gasps, stares, runs just in time and imagines that Zuko begs her to dodge it.

Sozin's comet is a cruel entity, a creature birthed of a god who blesses his people while Katara's own spirits slumber. She is no match against two masters, one swathed in red and the other in blue that is an element deceiving her own.

If there is any remorse in his eyes, she does not see it. She doesn't have time to nor does she get any closer than the width of the wall of flames he's built around him. Her water is scarce, she's used it all and she can't believe it - she can sense more from somewhere else, somewhere hidden but she can't  _see_  a source. It's hot, too hot, and she considers using her sweat but that's just desperation talking that she can't come to terms with.

She's losing,  _spirits_ , she's losing and she can't – she can't find a way out, she's lost everything, she's lost the world to  _this_  -

When he finally approaches her, his pale skin is doused in oranges and reds, and he looks like a demon arisen from the depths of the Spirit World.

He was always a monster, she tried to tell everyone. But even monsters can steal hearts.

…

" _I should never have trusted you!"_

That's what she wants to say, what she would say if she wasn't trapped in a cage of arms stronger than her own. A searing pain shoots down the side of her waist, effectively muting her. She continues to thrash weakly but her energy is wasted on a futile fight.

Katara lost this battle the moment Zuko's kindness penetrated her fortified, icy walls. He deserves everything she threw at him, this coward. What he wouldn't do for his family, his spirits-damned  _honor_  – she should have  _known_.

This wasn't the first time, and if she somehow made it out of this mess, then it likely wouldn't be the last.

She feels her vision cloud over – no, she has to stay awake, she has to fight back, she has to – and her legs buckle beneath her. But Zuko, reliable Zuko holds her up. She can only tell it's him because she knows what it feels like to be held in his arms and the memory is revolting, so miserable and unwanted.

"You lied, " she whispers hoarsely, or at least she tries to. That's all her throat will allow her to say, and it isn't enough, not for her satisfaction. Nothing she ever says will be enough. Yet Katara thinks that the wall of flesh against her back stiffens.

It's not enough, she thinks again and again.

Everything goes black.


	2. Black Is Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the major questions that I've gotten is, "What are Zuko's motives?"
> 
> This is the revised version of the original chapter.

When she finally opens her eyes, all she sees is blackness. Katara weakly turns towards a very slight source of light out of instinct, but her eyes squint shut when a throbbing pain starts behind them. She tries to shake the discomfort away, tries to turn away from the light until pain shoots through her side. She cries out, thrashes. Something is holding her arms and legs in place.

And in her panic, everything comes back to her in a ruthless wave.

Foolish Katara, deluded again by gentle smiles and seemingly selfless deeds. What is selfless about studying the enemy? That's all he ever did.

Zuko. He lied, he always lied to her and everyone he ever met. She could never forgive him again, and why should she? He chose his warped sense of honor, or perhaps he always knew that following in the glory of his heritage, his ancestry, his family's evil past and every sin they'd ever committed against the world was the proper path for a heartless liar.

Her body betrays her and she sobs quietly, but no tears come to soothe the suffocating heat of her skin. She hates the heat, she hates it because it ruins everything it ever touches, including herself. She's ruined, wrapped in a bed of thorns disguised as what she assumes are silks, in a place she was supposed to conquer but never did.

The world is ruined because of her foolishness.

Katara bites her tongue when she hears the sound of a heavy door shutting behind shifting whispers of fabrics. She remembers what happened, and she remembers why she is here. But she doesn't know exactly where "here" is, she can't see well enough past dry, caked eyes and misty darkness to figure it out on her own, and she assumes whoever is hovering somewhere near her will tell her eventually now that she's awake.

A cool, wet cloth spreads over her forehead, the corners of it wipe at her eyes, and she wants to snarl because she won't thank this offender, this ruthless person who won't let her die in her shame. Her rejection pours out in weak groans instead, but it does enough to force the stranger away from her side.

She won't thank Fire Nation scum anymore.

The dark figure shuffles from the room without a word, Katara doesn't hear what she wants or maybe doesn't want to know, and the tears finally form a path down her cheeks.

…

She wakes again to the same darkness, but this time her hair stands on end and her flesh tingles familiarly.

Someone is seated beside her, quiet, unmoving. The wet cloth is cool again, and her breathing comes easier somehow. She tries to lift her leg and cries out unintentionally when pain forces the weak limb back down. It's only then that she notices through mind-numbing soreness that something cold and rigid, something like braced metal, is wrapped around her ankle.

Of course, she's a prisoner here. Even a bed bathed in silks could do nothing to hide that.

"Are you okay?"

She jumps a bit, forgetting just for a second about the stranger in the room, her mind so steeped in confusion and anger. But the truth is no longer so heavily clouded in mystery. The words are brief but the voice is unmistakable in its deep rasp, as if his throat had been charred with the very smoke and fire he breathes, like the dragons she'd only heard about from Aang. She can't forget a voice like that as much as she wants to.

Spirits, she can't.

Katara turns towards the sounds abruptly, fails to remember the previous jolt of pain in her side and the restraints around her ankles and her wrists and screams hoarsely at him. She has words in mind to portray her hatred but they only pour out as furious shrieks until all that's left are shallow croaks that no longer resemble her voice.

Of course she's not okay! How can she – how can she be okay?!

Physical agony is forgotten, replaced by torment of mind and heart. Her only regret is that she can't see his face in its entirety. She wants more than anything to see him cringe, to see his eyes pool over in regret.

And she refuses to let her eyes leak tears for him so she sneers in his direction and rattles the chains that bind her instead, ignoring the twinge in her side. Zuko had considered her people barbaric once, and she wouldn't be surprised if he still thought of her in that way, not anymore. So she would show him barbaric until he cann't stand it.

"Get away from me," she snarls as if her own breath could turn to fire and burn whatever image of the boy sitting by her plagues her mind. Her voice comes out sounding weak and crackly and she hates it.

"You might tear the bandages if you keep doing that," he has the audacity to say with a soft, broken voice, as if he actually cares.

Katara rolls onto her back and winces. The memory of recent events flickers in her mind in bits and pieces again, how she tried to dive out of his grip only to fall to the ground in a pained heap because someone chose to incapacitate her. Easier to control a prisoner through pain.

"Good," she spits, grimacing with the effort, "I'd rather let infection put me out of my misery than – than to have to deal with any of you."

He remains silent, as if her words are doing nothing to provoke him, but she can't have that. If Katara knows any single truth about Zuko, it's that he's passionate and easily angered. Maybe, if she's lucky, he'll kill her in his fury.

(Her family would be so ashamed of the weak thoughts flitting through her head, that is, if any of them are still alive.)

"I was right about you," she continues, "you're filthy and selfish, so why not burn me alive and get me out of your way?"

"I didn't want to hurt you! Azula burned you against my wishes and -"

"Oh, how honorable of you."

That does the trick. Zuko's standing over her now, his hands in shuddering fists at his sides and she tries to glare at him in defiance through how weak she actually feels. His expression is clearer now, and what strikes her most is the furious gold of his eyes peaking through the darkness.

She is ashamed to remember she was once mesmerized by those eyes, how she believed once that they held truth in them. But either he is a more skilled liar than he initially let on or she and her friends are more naïve than any worldly saviors should be, and that is their ultimate downfall.

Katara wants to cry bitter tears but not in front of him.

"I hope you're happy, Zuko." His name is a poisonous curse on her tongue and he knows it, the way he tenses next to her. "You're going to rule the entire world now, and your loving father will shower you in praise. He will, won't he?"

He visibly hesitates before husking out in that accursed voice of his, "Aang might come back -"

"Stop it!" she yelps, yanking at the shackles around her wrists. "Don't you dare mention his name like he actually matters! He disappeared because you pressured him too much, it was all a part of your plan!"

"No it wasn't, Katara -"

"Get out! Get out of here, I don't want to see you!" She's shrieking again now, writhing in her bed and kicking through the pain and reaching for him as if she could strangle him without the restraints stopping her.

He hesitates again before turning to leave, and her hollow screams turn to shaking sobs that she will hate herself for later.

She wishes he never knew her name.

…

Zuko doesn't come back for days, she thinks. There isn't enough light in the room to tell her when the sun comes up or when it sets. Only the moon cries out to her but she cannot call back, her body too weak to bother and her mind too faded to recognize its sorrow.

Servants come in to clean her burns, and a healer sits by her through the fever that ravages her corpse-like body, but he never comes. She doesn't understand why he even bothers to send these useless people to her like she knows he does.

She'd rather let the fever take her away from this place.

…

She's awake this time, sitting up in bed and pinching the edges of her bandages between her fingers. His visit comes as an unwelcome surprise to her. It must have been a week or more since the last time he decided to stop by and check on her, she can't be sure, but it's a seemingly generous act for a cruel man all the same. Katara wonders why she even tries to count the days.

"Why are you keeping me here?" She hasn't spoken in just as long, so her voice trickles out hoarsely. Water can't soothe the dryness in her throat, and she doesn't want it to because pain means awareness and comfort is a happiness she can no longer endure. The curt tone underlying her words doesn't seem to deter him. She doesn't acknowledge him in any other way, the tips of her fingers still gripping and tugging at the bandages near her hip. "I'm no good to anyone like this."

"I convinced Azula to let you stay in this room." She hears the shuffle of cloth and the clatter of armor as he sits down beside her bed. He is no longer as hesitant as he was before, his voice clearer but still gentle in the quiet of the wide room.

It irks her, makes her uneasy that he can be so calm in a situation like this. Katara had hoped and prayed to Spirits that likely didn't hear her at all that he'd show his true colors, that he would finally lose his selfish hold on his self-control and hurt her. But he doesn't, not yet.

She finally turns to him, grips the sheets in unrelenting fists and shoots a venomous glare at his face.

"Why?"

Katara waits. She waits and she waits until her nails dig clean furrows into her palms and she tastes blood between her pinching teeth. His eyes don't find hers, his hesitation and silence unnerving more than anything. It makes her think endearing thoughts and that is horrible, revolting, impossible.

She can't take this side of him, this bizarre lack of passion, this undertone of sadness and regret that is so uncharacteristic in their roles as prisoner and warden, so she loses sweet control again.

(It's a cruel cycle.)

"Let me go for La's sake, just -" Her eyes dart around like the caged animal she is, her expression almost pleading desperation. This isn't fair, weakness isn't what she wants to show in front of him but she can't take this much longer and she knows it. She leans back, pulls the sheets with her and over her feet. "At least tell me if my brother's alive."

She doesn't like that Zuko continues to hesitate so much, conveying brittle emotion he has no luxury to share as far as she's concerned. She doesn't like it when she's wrong.

"They brought down the fleet of airships, but," Zuko pauses, leaning forward and reaching for her hand. Katara inches back and kicks his hand away.

He has the nerve to look dejected before his expression turns to steel.

"No one was found near there except for Aa – the Avatar. He's in our custody now."

Katara turns paler than she was before, she can feel the blood draining from her face and her head and dizziness starts to overcome her.

She never should have hoped. That hope ruined her and everyone and everything.

"No, no! You did this, this is all your fault!" She's on her hands and knees now, the chains binding her to the bed but loosely enough that she can move in place, cursing Zuko's life and his family and the entire Fire Nation with her wide eyes and bared teeth. She doesn't feel the burn anymore, she doesn't feel any weakness beneath the hollow rage that's settled into her belly and her throat.

"My father was victorious, I had little to do with that." He doesn't mention his sister, how she probably aided her father just in time, and how she was only able to because of his betrayal towards her. These are all assumptions, bare assumptions but she is so furious that she cannot bring herself to ask.

Katara wants to kill him before she dies here. She wants to close his throat and suffocate him.

She can feel her own blood boiling.

"Shut up! My brother trusted you, they all trusted you and – and considered you their friend and you -"

"Fuck, this isn't easy for me either!" He's standing over the bed again, and he's close enough that she can smell sulfur on his breath.

He may be furious, but she is now the essence of fire, and she will burn him.

"You – you monster. This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? I tried to make you miserable and then – and then you tricked me into trusting you again so you could trap me – all of us in your - your clutches."

"I won't deny that what I did was wrong, but that isn't all true." It almost sounds like he's pleading, but she honestly doesn't care about what "true" means to him.

"Then why am I here, Zuko? What do you want from me?!" His hands are strained and in fists but that doesn't stop her from reaching out as far as she can and grabbing one of them. When he doesn't answer right away, when his gaze shifts ever so slightly she yanks at his arm.

He hesitates. "I convinced Azula to let you stay here. She wanted you imprisoned, but-"

He convinced her? Zuko wants her here?

Katara feels sick; she feels her stomach churn and she's almost certain her head is going to explode.

"So the princess," she spits venemously, "is letting me... is she letting me warm your bed? Is that it?" She ignores his widened eyes and drags his hand to her neck. "Tell me, prince, are you here for a head start?"

"That's enough!" Katara glares even as he yanks his hand away and tucks it behind him. "You're here to recover, and then...I'll figure something out from there. It's late, go to sleep."

Zuko straightens his back and curves his brow as if nothing happened, though she's certain that he's more than shaken. She watches him storm out to be sure before lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

It doesn't seem like a victory at all.

…

She awakens to a hand holding hers, the coarseness of its palm digging in but not uncomfortably.

She knows but doesn't stir. There's no energy in her right now to waste on fighting or on wondering why he's even there, at least not right now.

Sleep consumes her again but frustration clouds her dreams.


	3. Tremor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, you all are so lovely, so so lovely. I'm so excited about the responses I've been getting, haha. Writing isn't as easy as drawing is for me, but I'm certainly trying, and my complicated thought process can easily get in the way so I'm constantly battling that. So thank you so much for the support!
> 
> *This is the revised version of chapter 3.

She is stripped naked by the enemy's servants and led into a basin of water, finally, after a seeming eternity of rolling around in her own filth. Perhaps word of her growing listlessness (or maybe the unbearable stench of infection to those who don't have to live in it) made its way to the only one who seems to bother with her existence.

Katara can't even bring herself to be grateful to him, for this act of “kindness” towards a prisoner of war, because that is what she is now and forever will be and it's entirely his fault. It takes some time to come to terms with, but she is learning and will always remember.

If he thinks that this is kindness, then he is truly stupid. Letting a waterbender near water even when incapacitated is foolish, a risk not worth taking. She won't act on any impulse, not yet, but perhaps if Prince Zuko were to stand before her just then, she'd strangle him with a jagged rope made of ice.

The bath is cold, but she considers herself immune to it. There is no more pain when the water meets her open wounds than without, no prickling of her toes or fingertips though she would likely invite it. Physical pain is better than emotional pain. Instead, the water brings her peace, her element washing away bits of grime and little bits of overwhelming hopelessness with it.

Water is her only home now. She can do with it as she wills (within reason, of course.) And every time it turns to ice, the servants whisper in fearful hisses.

Their reluctance to touch her is welcome, Katara doesn't want their help. Yet her wrists are bound and sore even in the water, as if they actually think she wants to fight back. Where would such rashness get her, anyway? She isn't stupid enough to think that she could save Aang on her own in a palace full of enemies. Soldiers would come running, and Zuko would be the first to know, or maybe even his awfuller sister.

(She remembers that horrid laughter that followed after her even as her consciousness was fading. She remembers the nightmares that keep her awake most nights and the memories of searing, torturous pain.)

The thought chills her to the bone more than any ice could. Her leg is starting to ache, and it's not the water that's doing it.

Her palms skim the floor of the tub between her splayed thighs and she blinks drops of water from her lashes. The water glows bright if only for a second before it dims back into greyness splashed with a hint of brown. If she heals herself where the restraints dig into her skin and where she has been maimed by the elemental bane of her existence, her flesh will be pure again and the ache will disappear.

Katara thinks back to a familiar scar, a scar not her own, how it once weakened her resolve the first time her fingertips came in contact with it, how the memory of it now twists her gut in disgust. A sick part of her that is becoming more familiar to her wonders if his pain was worse than hers when he was burned.

Those same fingertips trace the borders of her own, steadily healing flesh, and then travel to the crease of her thigh, fluttering softly over smoother, unmarred flesh.

No, she won't heal it, not this time. A scar is nothing compared to what she's been through. It's a token of her hatred, her scorn. It will be a constant reminder of the Fire Nation's boundless hospitality.

More importantly, she knows that Zuko will see it, and though he's responsible for her current condition, and even though the essence of the Fire Nation is monstrous, the prince is its gaping flaw. Zuko shares his needless company with her, tries (and fails) to feed her, sends healers to her bedside. He forces these reluctant servants to bathe her with lavish soaps, a waste in her opinion.

She wonders if all of this is out of sympathy. Maybe it's guilt.

The princess wouldn't bat an eyelash if Katara were to rot in her own filth.

She shakes water out of her eyes after a bucket-full is dumped on her head and breaks her train of thought.

The servants giggle under their breaths, albeit mockingly, and she can hear their mumbling remarks about her looking like a dingy mop.

They quiet down when the ends of her hair form spikes of ice.

 

* * *

 

If Zuko isn't lying for once, then Aang is still alive.

Katara wonders if the rest of the walls of the palace are red as blood or black as a moonless sky. She hopes to see it all for herself.

The clattering of chains reminds her again and again of her foolishness, but she would continue to play a fool if it meant saving Aang.

She had to try.

She  _had_ to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Can  I go out for a while?”

Her voice startles him because these are the first words she's said to him in days, and he's suddenly standing and gaping at her like she's grown two faces.

“You can't be serious,” Zuko balks. She looks at him expectantly, eyes wide and innocent as she can muster in her position. There's a pause, and then he's sitting back down again and he appears concerned of all thing. She wants to scoff but maintains her previous demeanor. “Of course you're serious...listen, I can't let you do that.”

It honestly hurts her pride to ask for permission to do anything, even something so mundane as stepping into some sunlight, _especially_ from a boy more worthless than _dirt_. But Katara buries any spared fragment of her ego beneath her sternum.

She needs to see the rest of the palace, to try and map what she can. She needs to get to Aang, this annoyance is for him and it's minor compared to how much he must be suffering right now.

(Remember the plan, _remember_.)

“I'll die if you keep me here.” She admits it with eyes so wide and wet, her eyebrows furrowed and lips trembling so pathetically that it makes her insides churn and her head spin. “I just – I need some sunlight.”

He appears to be deep in thought, his lower lip jutting out in a worried pout. Katara decides that one of the only truths he'd ever shared was his oddly awkward demeanor, something she'd once found endearing but now it only frustrates her. She watches his eyes travel along the length of her body, clothed in loose silks she never wanted, and she flinches when he reaches forward and wraps a rough hand around one of her wrists. She bites her lip, feels her eyes prickling because her skin is still raw where she chose not to heal it.

Katara has to look away when his expression reads distress, because any emotion like that coming from someone who betrayed her so ruthlessly couldn't possibly be real. She can't believe that he truly cares, only that he is preserving her life and minimal comforts because she is of use to him in this place or something. If this emotional response is real, then he would be Fire Lord as was planned, and he wouldn't still be a loyal servant to his horrible father.

She still doesn't have a good explanation as to why he visits her like this, like a friend would. She recalls his reaction to her touch all those days ago, to her accusations – but she still isn't sure. A hollowness starts to form in her stomach again.

“You're too thin,” he identifies with a lighter touch than before, as if he's conscious of the fact that he's hurting her even though she doesn't want him to be so aware, it doesn't make sense. “Are you even eating the food I've sent for you?”

“I don't want it,” she admits, swinging her legs around to the front of her and letting them hang over the edge of the bed. They're bare, her legs, and they bump into Zuko's with the narrow space between them. He jumps a bit but he doesn't move out of the way, and though the proximity is one of discomfort, Katara holds her position and leans forward instead. “You can watch me, let me go out with my wrists bound, can't you? I need air, _please_.”

“No,” Zuko asserts, shaking his head and scooting his chair away from her. She's taken aback for a moment, her lips parting on a silent gasp that he doesn't seem to notice. “I've already asked for too much by keeping you here. Father wanted me to throw you in the dungeons with the Avatar.”

“I'd rather be there with him,” she murmurs, that hollowness in her belly growing steadily. It hurts to say it, it hurts but it's true. She'd rather be in a dank, dark cell beside her beloved friend than waste away in this place.

Zuko pauses. Katara thinks she has him this time. He shakes his head again.

“That isn't your decision to make.” She bristles at this even though it's true and she hates it. And it doesn't help that Zuko's eyes are locked on hers as he says it and his lips are spread into a thin line and she detects the slightest bit of regret in his expression.

“Then tell me,” she slumps forward, wrenching her gaze away from his and directing it instead at the blackness of the cool tiles beneath her feet, “why can't I be with Aang?”

Silence pours over them, and even as the minutes go by Katara can't bring herself to glance back at him and infer why he isn't answering. She doesn't want his expression to reveal anything more to her, she already thinks that his sympathy is real, and this revelation hollows her out more and more and more.

“You're safe here,” he says quietly but firmly.

Safe?

“That's hilarious,” she rolls her eyes. “I'm a prisoner in the Fire Nation, and you're saying I'm 'safe' here?”

Without warning, she tugs the hem of her robes up. Zuko turns away abruptly with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What do you think you're doing?!” he demands through gritted teeth. That doesn't stop her from tearing at the bandages wrapped around her leg and lying in a way that exposes the pink, angry wound bed on her thigh.

“Just look at this and remind me how 'safe' I am here,” she spits. It's almost gratifying watching him pale and grimace from over her shoulder. She knows he detects that underlying accusation, because he knows this is his fault, and she tilts her chin up in confidence and defiance because of it. “If that's your only excuse, then let me be with Aang.”

Katara nearly gasps before catching herself because Zuko is tugging her skirts back down and she thinks she feels his hands shaking.

“I'll send someone to redress that,” he murmurs, hand lingering probably too long on her thigh before he yanks it back and rubs it like he was bitten by some small animal.

With a loud ruffling of robes and scraping of boots he's up and gone.

Her skin tingles painfully in his wake.


	4. Nothingness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What...what's that? Is that a wild update?! It's only been 2 years hahaha...hah...
> 
> *This is a revision of the original chapter 4.

She soaks up the warmth of sunlight like a starving man offered a piece of bread, but that doesn't mean she's any happier than she was in the dark, muggy confines of her prison.

Zuko is watching her from beneath the shade of a marble pillar, and her wrists are still bound, but their soreness no longer noticeable. He insisted that one of the palace’s healers take care of her chafing skin despite her protests.

Katara finds it more calming to try and ignore him, so she focuses on the small ripples of water surfacing the pond at her feet. Foolish of anyone to let her near water again, but perhaps they know she stands no chance against a palace full of guards and soldiers and master firebenders in her current condition. She concentrates instead on the chirping of turtleducks, their fluffy heads bobbing in and out of the water.

The air is hot and humid, and the sun burns the top of her head. She envies the freedom of these creatures, that they can bathe and eat and play when and where they choose. She knows now what it feels to take life for granted, even when her previous life meant always fleeing from the Fire Nation.

She takes a breath, gambles with her own limited ounce of freedom for the briefest of moments, and dips a toe into the water. Immediately, Zuko is at her side and grasping her elbows, and Katara thinks it's because she's starting to lose her balance but she knows better.

“It's time to go inside,” he murmurs, mouth near her ear and chest to her back. She tugs out of his grip like he’s the one to burn her this time. He lets go without hesitation.

…

Her disappointment is hardly noticeable next to the pure frustration burning in her stomach. She is disgusted with him, with herself. She is infuriated, because she was too focused on her own temptations instead of scanning the courtyard, examining the guards’ survey patterns, finding a crack in security that she can somehow slip through when – if - he lets her go outside again.

How could she - a waterbending master and warrior, a woman born to nurture and destroy - how could _she_ be so weak?

Of course she could. Weakness got her into this mess in the first place.

…

Plotting was never her forte. That was Sokka's job. He'd be ashamed of her if he knew what she was trying to do. He would be ashamed that she’s giving the traitorous prince yet another chance, even it’s a farce, even if she’s only scheming.

She would explain that it wasn't about her, that they had nothing to lose anymore. The world can still be saved, there's always hope.

She feels disgusting even thinking about it.

Katara will carve the word “hope” into her skin where it hurts the most, where she's been stained by dirtied hands that gently, shamefully caress her scars and blemishes and smoothness when she pretends to be asleep. She doesn't doubt anymore, after all this time spent thinking and thinking, that those hands touch her with regret and pained contemplation, but forgiveness is no longer something she can offer.

Zuko can't be forgiven, but she will play this little “game” of his and she will do it for the only one who truly matters in this Agni-forsaken place.

She leans into his touch, peeks at him through lidded eyes, and his eyes widen in clear amazement.

They both remain silent. She waits.

The fool doesn't leave this time.

…

“This was my mother's pond.”

Katara pretends not to acknowledge the subtle bump of his shoulder into hers, nor does she turn to follow his voice. The origins of this place benefit her in no way, and she hardly cares what it means to the prince. She senses that he's looking at her, waiting for a response, but she offers none.

So he continues. “I used to sit beside her while she fed the turtleducks. They...never liked me.”

She nearly snorts, but she catches herself before any air can whistle through her nares. She wants to tell him that there's no surprise there, that he's not exactly likeable. It's not true, though, and she forces her gaze further away, biting her tongue.

A few moments of silence thicken between them. Katara shifts, makes to step away from the stoney edge of the shallow water – she needs to explore a bit, determine if there are any other water sources nearby, observe the guard's watch practices and paths – and so she does until her departure is interrupted by a firm grip on her shoulder. She nearly curses, but she lets the stiffness of her wasted muscles reveal her distaste instead.

Zuko doesn't let go. He turns her to face him, runs a coarse, heated palm down the length of her arm before gently wrapping it around her thin wrist over cool, metal cuffs. The contrast makes her shudder.

“Katara, listen, I - I have to tell you something.”

There is concern where it shouldn't be, glistening in his narrow eyes, darkened by the shade of the shaggy length of his bangs. This strikes her, because he looks like her “friend” Zuko, the one who helped her and her motley group of friends, the one who put his life on the line to protect her once upon a time. He sounds like her friend when he says her name, and it leaves a twinge in her spine. He looks and sounds just like Zuko, but that...that wasn't real.

Her fingers twitch, she weakly strains against the bindings around her wrists though they don't move, weighed down by humility and hollow anger and the pressure of his hand wrapped around her forearm.

Stupid boy. He'd never make it as a ruler. He's too vulnerable even now, a mockery of Fire Nation royalty. His father, his sister would ruin him in the end and yet he follows them in their wake like a beggar after the false promise of gold coins.

The futility of his fate is laughable at best.

“The Council decided what to do with Aang - _listen_.” He grips her wrist more tightly when she moves to correct him – Zuko has no right to say that name anymore – effectively cutting her off as she winces. Katara bares her teeth in annoyance, but she’s scared for Aang and she doesn’t want Zuko to see it. She watches him visibly swallow. His gaze never leaves hers despite his obvious discomfort.

_V_ _ulnerable_. _Laughable_.

She’s terrified.

“Execution by fire.”

“When?” Her voice betrays her, and her head needs to know before her heart can comprehend what he’s just told her. Time, she needs _time_ , she needs to _save him_.

“Katara -”

“ _When?!_ ” She’s yelling now, her voice hoarse, desperation curling her fingertips. The pond water crackles as it steadily freezes but the sound appears distant and all she really hears is a buzzing getting louder and louder. Zuko is watching her still – he knows what she’s capable of – with an arm raised at his side as if to stop someone, a guard coming to his aid perhaps.

“Tomorrow.”

Katara nearly goes cross-eyed, nearly loses her balance with the sudden force of her heart pounding against her rib cage and the loss of blood to her face and head. She feels herself go pale, her fingertips go cold, her lips go numb and her knees buckle.

Somehow he knows, he knows what his words have done and he grips her around the waist and holds her in place. Katara doesn't cling to him for support, she doesn't cry out or shed any tears. She lets him lower the both of them onto the grass. The buzzing in her ears drowns out any and all noise.

Katara thinks he's apologizing or he's calling her name or he's summoning a guard and she can't comprehend why. She doesn't want to hear it anyway. She peers past him at an ambiguous spot on the wall nearest to him and lets her mind go blank.

…

_He's apologizing to her. He's begging her to speak._

_He caresses her cheek softly, wipes away damp streams of tears, presses his lips onto the line of her jaw and tastes the pain he's caused her._

_He doesn't pull away or make a noise even as melted ice and blood soak through the fabric of his robes._

…

Katara wakes with a start, her head spinning and her chest constricting and her eyes stinging.

She takes pause to look around her. These aren't her usual quarters, it's too bright here and the bed is small and smells of washed linen. And the food at her bedside is different, not that she has the appetite for it anyway.

She pats her face and finds no tears, scans the bedding and detects no bloody stains.

Then she begins to wonder, to realize. How long has it been? How long was she out? What happened – what -

Zuko's announcement comes back to drown her all at once.

She vomits over the side of the bed.

…

He doesn't seek her out for the rest of the day.

She is guided back to her room that night on trembling legs, and he isn't there waiting for her. Katara isn't disappointed, though a suffocating part of her just wants answers. She may have given up because of too many hours lost to her frailty and utter stupidity, but she wants to know. She wants to know that Zuko tried.

It doesn't make any sense, it's so important to her even though it doesn't make sense – she knows his true colors as she always has, the weak, useless prince - yet she can't seem to build up the courage to mention it even to the servants who bathe her, to ask where he is or whether he's coming back.

Perhaps, maybe, she's too broken now to bother.

Spirits...she wants to cry but no tears will come anymore.

…

Katara feels it's cliché to think the sky is mourning the loss of the Avatar. The cycle will renew itself, only to be smothered again in fire's wake. She recalls that “water” is next. Will the next Avatar be born to the Northern Tribes? Or will her people in the South be annihilated once and for all? Will the bender be born of the colonies instead?

...It doesn’t matter. No matter where the child is born, he or she will die. The Fire Nation will make sure of it.

World domination allows them to destroy every Avatar to come.

The world will burn now and forever, its last vestige of purity, its last chance for hope gone.

And she did nothing to stop it.

…

She hasn't eaten in days, a week, maybe two, and she hasn't slept in more. The weakness in her muscles is palpable, and it aches to move but what does it matter?

She is truly alone. The weight of this reality sinks into her bones and forms empty heaviness in parts of her that aren't already hollowed out.

Acknowledging his presence at her bedside is useless now. Answers are pointless, she doesn’t need them anymore.

She is nothing without Aang.

She is nothing without her family.

The prince has her now, the silent corpse that she is, and she hears or hallucinates a quiet apology on his lips as he stands to leave, but what will words change now?

Katara may believe in his words because she has nothing left to lose anymore, but honesty has never done anyone any good. She has learned this in the hardest of ways.

All she can hope for anymore is to whither away into nothingness.


	5. The Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I was totally surprised by all the positive feedback so far. I'm touched and humbled and...genuinely sorry it took so long. It's true, why should I start and share a project unless I'm certain it's going to be finished? All I can say is that I intended to finish when I started, but life has a funny way of making things difficult. I also didn't expect this story to be popular at all? I set out writing this only to torture the souls of Zutara shippers, that's all. Haha...
> 
> Anyways, on with the story!

“The Avatar is gone, and to think he was just a  _child_.”

“Don't be like that. The Fire Nation is safer now than it's ever been.”

She imagines her element carved into daggers and thrust through the throats of these miserable women who tend to her so blindly. And yet, she doesn't even have the strength or the desire to manipulate a single drop of water. She wonders vaguely if she's sad or angry or simply empty.

Katara dips her head under the water and holds her breath, her eyes closed and her mind a blank void.

She only manages a few seconds of muffled silence, a few seconds of calm before she is yanked out of the water by her hair. The woman is ragging on about something or another while scraping her nails through tangle upon tangle. Katara doesn't bother wincing when she brings out the brush, she doesn't bother with the complaints thrown her way about how horrible Water Tribe hair is, how grateful she should be that such expensive shampoos and silks are wasted on her kind of filth.

All she can envision is wasted opportunity.

…

“Please eat.”

It's pathetic how the Fire Prince begs her, as if she is actually worth something to him alive. Everyone else is gone because of his betrayal, so why should she matter.

Katara sees him hold out a bowl in steady hands just in her peripheral vision, because facing him directly is too hard now. It's more than her frail mind and even frailer body can manage.

There is a shuddering, lengthy moment of silence before he speaks again.

“He didn't suffer.”

Picken shit. Fire hurts. It burns and stings and tears. She knows from experience and so does he. The evidence is there on his own face.

Her eyes strain to watch his arms fall, the bowl of food now resting in his lap. She doesn't miss how his fingers now tremble over the edge of the delicate porcelain.

“Katara,” he starts, a hard swallow preceding a pregnant pause. Her name sounds so familiar that, at the same time, it sounds almost foreign on his lips now. “I did what I could.”

“Funny, he’s _dead_ because of what you ‘did.’” Her voice betrays her despite her utmost desire to act completely ignorant of his presence at her side, but fury has always been impossible for her to disguise. Katara will never give Aang up, even if he’s just a memory now.

She will never stop loving the boy she lost.

She lost him because of Zuko.

“Just listening to you makes me sick,” she spits before knocking the bowl out of Prince Zuko's hands and she snarls. He is shocked, and perhaps he understands just how much she despises him for all of the losses she's faced, endless, all painful, all unforgotten and never to be forgiven ever.

_Ever_.

Katara glances directly at him for once, frustration rolling off of her in waves. But arguing with him is pointless now that everything is truly over. She rolls over on the bed to face away from him and closes off her mind to his unwelcome presence.

…

Katara is startled awake by the unfamiliarity of a smooth, silken voice along the edge of her ear.

“I see you're not dead yet.”

She blinks slowly while a part of her contemplates shooting up out of bed and getting into a fighting stance. But this is  _ _Princess Azula__ , and Katara doesn't have much reason to fight anymore nor does she have the strength to stand up to the inherently evil royal.

(It's not like her to not try. She lost herself when the Avatar was lost to the world.)

Katara watches the princess wrinkle her nose while she scans the bed, probably deciding that Water Tribe filth is nothing but, even in Fire Nation garb. Then she glances at the chair beside her and wipes the seat off before plopping down with the scraping of armor. Katara watches all of this through lidded eyes and lets her brittle sense of humor remind her that Fire Nation scum must not feel anything at all, including discomfort.

Azula is smirking at her. Katara chooses to sit up to face the girl who obviously isn’t leaving any time soon. Might as well preserve whatever inkling of her dignity is left.

“You're breaking poor Zuzu's heart,” the princess croons, her full, painted lips curled into a clearly exaggerated pout. “I didn't picture you as the ungrateful type. Just look at you, all skin and bones. See, if you were as thick-skinned as every waterbender I've ever met – now I haven't met many but that's not important – then I'd say all this precious food is wasted on you.”

She points to the bowl of dried, congealed rice on the table, its meaty smell faded with time and neglect. Her fingernail is unnaturally shaved away into a claw-like shape and painted a deep red, which disturbs Katara nearly as much as the sharp yellow eyes staring her down do.

“Although I'd say it's wasted on you anyway, but Zuzu only listens when it suits him.” She crosses her legs and leans back while her eyes roll in wide circles. “He actually thinks he's doing you a favor, but you and I both know how slowly he catches on to the important things.”

“Why are you here?” Katara rasps, finally breaking her silence. She may be more numb than she's ever been, but her patience still wears thin with enough prodding, and she wants this aspect of her nightmares to _leave_.

Azula's grin widens over perfect teeth, and it seems as if her eyes are shining. Katara shifts in place, imagining those teeth sharpened to points, too.

“I don't need a reason to visit a prisoner, even if she's my brother's -” she pauses, a demeaning chuckle dimpling her cheeks, “special guest. He's so very fond of you, you know, though I suppose I can't blame him entirely.”

She reaches forward, her pointed nails grazing the surface of Katara's darker-skinned cheek and she flinches away. Azula's smile softens but it is no less unnerving.

“I suppose you're pretty, for a waterbender that is.” She leans her elbows onto her knees and rests her chin daintily in the cup of her palms, practically glowing.

Before her entire world crumbled, when Zuko was starting to get under her skin with his feigned selflessness...wouldn't Azula's words have meant nothing then if only to provoke her?

Katara glares defiantly, but unease still nestles deep into her chest.

“I'm only relieved that you didn't pass on some nasty disease to him, he’s next in line to the throne – after myself, of course. It would be a shame if something were to happen to him.”

She should be offended, on behalf of herself and of her entire nation. She should be enraged by such an outrageous claim! But it feels for a second like blasting jelly’s gone off in her head and she can barely think.

_She was right all along._

“I – I didn't -” Katara starts, but her voice is caught in her throat and Azula's piercing eyes, glowing so brightly with utter amusement, make her feel so small, so useless. Her defiance fades quickly.

“Even father's had his share of fun.” Azula laughs while Katara suddenly feels the suffocating urge to vomit. “Although really, waterbender, you should eat something. You’reawfully thin and you need your strength. I'll send a new tray over, and I expect you to finish everything on it this time, especially that.” She gestures to the tea cup beside the untouched bowl of food. “We wouldn’t want any accidents would we?” Katara fails to hide her confusion, cringes when Azula laughs again. “Contraceptive tea, of course.”

The princess rises up from her seat onto light, graceful feet. Katara can only see shuffling movements through cloudy vision that only clouds over further and she hears a muffled fairwell – Azula is leaving, she's finally leaving, but her departure eases her so very little.

She fights the urge to dry heave over the side of the bed and lies back down. The gravity of the situation weighs her stomach down. She can’t get comfortable, not now that everything she suspected all along has been laid out so clearly in words.

She's only meant to be a whore to the victorious Prince of the Fire Nation. And she’s been drinking that damned tea because she’s long forgotten hunger, yet thirst to a waterbender is unbearable.

Zuko's cunning continues to escape her, she should have known, _she should have known_. And though she had somewhat of an idea, the concept put into words is like a mallet to the gut.

Katara now fully understands herself as a war prize, a gift to the prince who has shown his true cunning, because she is groomed and perfumed though she holds no importance to anyone otherwise.

She glances at the porcelain cup filled to the brim with contaminated tea and gags quietly behind trembling fingers.

  



End file.
